Walk A Mile In My Shoes
by thatbrooklyn
Summary: Never, ever judge until you...


**A/N: Some of the language in this story is politically incorrect. This is simply because I have tried to keep it historically sound and authentic. I mean no disrespect to any race. **

"Boots! Cheese it, Boots, would'ya wait?!" Jack Kelly panted hard, trying to catch up with his younger friend. Boots turned and waited on the curb, his expression sullen, angry. "Whatdya want, Jack." He folded is arms and looked down.

Jack took a few deep breaths. He tried to think of what to say. Gosh, what would _he_ want to hear if the tables had been turned? What if those guys down the block had said all those things about him?

Boots had it tougher than many of the other Newsies. Sure, all the fellas had it rough. They was all in it together. The Manhattan newsboys were brothers. _All_ of them.

But Boots had to deal with things on a daily basis that none of the others could understand. How could they understand that people would rather buy papes from a white boy? How could they understand why Boots had to change his selling spot so often? Well, they _had_found out that some of the Queens newsies had been stealing his spot, but the Manhattan boys put a stop to that...or so they thought.

Now, Jack awkwardly gave Boots a pat. "C'mon, pal...it ain't that big a deal." Boots eyes shot to glare, and his jaw clenched. Even on his young face registered the pain that he was feeling. Jack went on. "So your gramps was a slave. Big deal. Time to get over it."

"If you knew _anything _about what it was like to live back in my grandaddy's time, you'd watch yo mouth," Boots said angrily.

Jack sighed. "I'm just sayin it was a long time ago, almost 30 years since its been ovah. Besides, it wasn't that bad bein' a slave in America."

Boots' eyes widened, and he suddenly drew back and smacked Jack in the face. Reeling, Jack landed in a puddle on his backside. Boots turned and left, still fuming.

Jack lifted his hand to his jaw, shocked. Suddenly, a loud cackle made him jump. Turning, he saw a tiny, thin Negro woman wrapped in a shawl. She was pushing a cart full of craw-fish for sale, but she had stopped to laugh at his predicament. Jack frowned, getting up.

"Whats so funny?" He grumbled.

The woman looked him up and down, still smirking. "Where you heared about de slabery, boy?"

"Well, just what me old man told me years ago."

She nodded. "You will learn mo'. Tonight when you be sleepin, mayhap." Then with a toothless grin, she began her hawking again.

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Loud noises filled the air, and the bustle of the small town square hummed with activity, from the enthusiastic auctioneer who stood on the block to the murmuring crowd surrounding the stand. In the midst of the crowd stood twenty Negroes in chains, awaiting with dread to know their fate. Children stood beside their mamas, looking fearfully at the crowd, who were examining them as they would a prospect horse. These slaves had been laborers on a plantation all their lives, and their master had just died. The inheriting son was downsizing, certain families had to be sold.

An old man, bent with age, waited his fate, knowing it would not be a happy one, especially considering his age. A mother stood erect, her seven children clustered about her. Her lips moved in an unspoken prayer, begging silently that her children not be taken from her.

A young, pretty fifteen year old girl desperately clasped the hand of her sweetheart, a strong, handsome lad with a good face.

A common scene in the deep south in the 1800s, many folks would come to purchase slaves when an event such as this happened. A tall, well dressed young buyer in a blue suit carefully examined the group that was on display.

He showed a special interest in the few who had a fairer complexion. These were known as malatto niggers, and were more often than not brought a higher price than the darker skinned blacks.

Plantation owners would often exersize power and intimidation to get favors from female slaves, especially beautiful ones. Beauty was a curse for the slave woman.

Many of the fairer skinned children were a result of these rich men's cruelty, but were acknowledged simply as added wealth for their master, not as son or daughter.

The young gentleman stopped in front of two beautiful seven year olds, malatto twins. The brother had an arm around his sister protectively, and the girls' big sad eyes looked up at him.

Kneeling down, the man ordered, "Open your mouth, girl. You too, boy." He examined their teeth, felt their limbs, and looked into their ears. The little girl whimpered as he gruffly turned her loose, and snuggled her head against her brother. "S'ok, Celie. I's right here wit ya," he said softly.

The bidding began, starting with the woman with seven children. One by one they were sold away from her, from the eldest strong boy to the barely walking toddler. She wailed bitterly and pleaded for her babes.

The auction continued, and finally the twins came up to bid. "Starting at three hundred!" barked the auctioneer, tweaking his grey moustache. and from the back of the crowd emerged a young, handsome man in a red bandana.

**_A/N: I know, I really should finish one story before starting a new one. This was floating in my head all day after reading some history on the subject. Besides, I don't control the muse! =)_**


End file.
